I Dreamt About Climbing (Into the Night Sky)
by DiaAlithean
Summary: Everything is falling apart but somehow his mother's murderer is there. *WinterIron if you squint. Past Stony. CACW compliant. SM:H compliant. Angst, heavy themes, non-con, nightmares, panic attacks, self-hatred, suicidal tendencies, slight gore, disassociation.*


Author Notes: Title from Dan Deacon's "When I Was Done Dying"

 **XXX**

"Don't bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?"

He sees the answer in Steve's eyes, even before he says the word (he should've known). Tony feels his stomach drop like a stone and there is a sharp sudden ringing in his ears. Everything falls away—

 **XX**

He doesn't remember much after that, never mind the difficulty thinking about it all (how did he get back home?). Time roars by, but he doesn't control this anymore. Trying to distinguish where he is or what he is doing is like squinting at shadows in waning daylight: it's easier to look away. But Tony has the muddled impression of running on autopilot, with only necessary tasks operational (self-preservation mode). Tony knows he could pull his other regulatory functions back online (like a machine, Stark, because you don't care about anyone but yourself, primary directive), but he doesn't have the will.

He has nothing.

 **XX**

There is sand in his mouth and the battery in his hands is sparking angrily (too close to the water). He's back in the cave again, in the dark. Shortly, they'll be coming in to shove him down into the barrel of water, and then, when they know he'll be pliable (wet and burning and swimming in agony) they'll start it all over again, just to make sure (talk, Stark and save your fucking hide)—

He returns to himself on the cold concrete floor of the other California workshop (never again the Compound), back against a wall, and hears the remains of rambling begging forming on his lips (I'll do it, _please_ , whatever you want, _not the water again, whatever you want—)._ Tony raises his head and as he shifts, his hand curls into sharp metal. Looking down, the jagged remains of an arc reactor unfurls in his palm. The high temper glass echoes against the stone as it slides to the ground.

There's no way to know what came before, but his eyes land on that perfect silver star leaning against the far wall, half covered with a tarp, and he takes in the rounded purposeful shape of something he knows, oh and—

Steve's gaze is hard and he's smiling (HYDRA is on his arm, what—). The shield comes down with _intention_ and Tony feels it carve through the layers of the Iron Man armor as if it is his own flesh. Then the shield _is_ gutting through his sternum, breaking through bones and crushing through the reactor (like a mean spirited child pulling off the wings off an insect just because they can).

Blood spatters across Steve's face.

 **XX**

Lucidity arrives and departs in stages, and this is how it remains. Sometimes he'll find himself in the corners of the lab, curled up tight, doubly sure to pull the extremities in, the smell of gunpowder and the echoes of machine fire barely out of hearing range (the doubt of whether he _really_ escaped is especially worrying, but he usually moves into Away at that point). Worse is the ascent into orbit through the airless dark, trapped in weightless, lifeless armor. The reactor always sputters, flickers and dies in space (he's used to his creations failing him).

(It's hard to tell, but—) For a while, he envisions his current reality is where he serves as Peter's mentor, builds him a magnificent suit that anticipates everything Peter could need, and if there are emergency protocols that alert Tony to the proximity of the deserter Avengers, then that is ultimately for Peter's protection (they won't get Spiderman too). He wants to protect the kid (like you protected, Rhodey, Tony?) and he codes and codes; he just wants Peter to be _safe._

It makes him sick.

 **XX**

Mark 46 stays in a corner of the lab, broken and dead. Tony has a hard time correlating a cause to the shredded chest plate and the dented appendages, and looking at it for an extended period of time makes a high pitched whine come to his ears, not unlike the warming up of a repulsor gauntlet.

 **XX**

The old team returns (who could say how much time has passed, because Tony certainly couldn't). He knows enough to recognize they were gone; they spent a healthy vacation in Wakanda, while Tony smiled and capitulated and groveled for the Accords (that sounds about right, because Tony's no hero and never good enough, but he sure can roll over). His mother's murderer is certainly there, with a bright and shiny new arm that matches the color of Steve's shield star.

The Winter Soldier stares right at him (no, _through_ him, like he can see the scared little boy that's always been there) and its all white noise after that.

 **XX**

Tony comes to screaming, and finds his hands around the Winter Soldier's neck.

He's kneeling over the Soldier, grip squeezing tight and grasping, as if he could tear out the Soldier's neck out with his bare hands. The Soldier must be is humoring Tony, because Tony remembers Siberia, even if the clarity and sequence of those events don't quite ever come together fully. He knows the important parts: the Soldier and Steve didn't pull their punches (even if Tony did), and the Soldier is on par with Steve with brute strength, not even including that metal arm.

The murderer's arm comes up and the flat of his hand strokes once across Tony's cheek. Without recognition, Tony feels the fingers slide into wetness and he wonders if those tears are real (he's come back to himself in nightmares and in some version of the present reality, so it can be difficult to differentiate the two).

The Soldier murmurs something through Tony's grip on his neck, his voice a harsh rasp, and Tony promptly slams back into Away.

 **XX**

Maybe his autopilot knew that primary directive number two needed correction (loneliness? that can't be right). That is the only explanation he can find for his hands on the keyboard under the workbench in the back corner and the, "Sir, I am here," startling him badly enough that his familiar acquaintance (panic) closes their teeth around his chest just as he badly cracks his head against the underside of the table's countertop.

"Sir, I am here. Breathe on my count. One—"

No no no no no—JARVIS is _dead—_

"Sir, you are safe, the time is 2:21 am, breathe in on my count. One, two, three—"

JARVIS is gone (another one of your mistakes, boy, can't you do _anything_ right), this isn't real _—_

 **XX**

He isn't certain, no he _knows_ this already happened, this is the past.

"Don't do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do," Tony says looking over Peter's shoulder. He knows that between the tinted glasses and the dark interior of the car, it looks like he is making eye contact with Peter (but how could he, when he was lucky the boy wasn't _killed_?).

Peter hums thoughtfully and after a pause, asks, "Mr. Stark, how do you do it? It seems like you're always fucking up, and everyone else is always cleaning up your messes."

Tony glances sharply at Peter, and the kid grins, earnest and open, his belligerent tone a polar opposite to his expression. Tony moves to reply, but Peter continues.

"Is that what happened with Captain America? He must have just been _done_ with you if he wanted to kill you. He must have felt sorry for you; I think he knew, like I know, that it wouldn't be worth it to kill you," Peter says.

Tony can't pull his eyes away from Peter's face, horrified, even as Peter slides a hand up Tony's arm and places an open palm across the skin grafts covering the hole in his chest.

"How do you keep going, knowing that _Captain America hates you_ —"

And then Peter is Obadiah and Tony's arc reactor is flashing blue, a beacon—

"Tony, Tony, Tony," Obadiah clicks his tongue, smiling down at him magnanimously. "What have I told you? If you're going to play the game, you always play to win. As usual, it's left to me to take care of things," Obadiah says as he reaches under Tony's shirt and unlocks the reactor from the housing in Tony's chest.

There is a sharp tug on the connector cable and Tony feels himself go sharply hot and then cold, Obadiah's shark smile suspended over him like some grotesque version of the Cheshire Cat—

 **XX**

It isn't unusual for him to come back from Away incoherent and nonsensical, but for once the location isn't immediately familiar. The body next to him _is_ , and the why of this takes back burner to the immediacy of his current sensory input, and it all is just too much after a nightmare, and he can't, he can't breathe—

The metal arm encircling the back of Tony's neck is terrifying when it pushes his head down between his knees.

"дышать," The Soldier says, and Tony's panic ratchets as he chokes through tears and partial inhales. "Breathe," the murderer says again, in English, and begins to count time.

Against his will, Tony finds his body responding, and gradually his breaths transition from uneven, faltering stutters to regular, even inhalations and exhales. He closes his eyes.

The Soldier does not remove his hand from Tony's neck.

 **XX**

It'd be easy to make a final separation from everything. Tony knows how to make the cuts with a sort of familiarity that is rather sad (never could take the final step, Jesus Christ what a coward). There are faster ways, such as the various armaments of the Iron Man armor.

Or he could just throw himself off Avengers tower (Loki had the right idea).

Well, it'd be easy, if only he could figure out where the nightmares ended and reality began. Tony has a hard time separating the two, because some of things he's fairly certain are reality seem too much like a fucked up dream to correlate to real events.

Because it seems impossible the Avengers (and Steve, who left him to _die)_ would still expect him to bankroll their operation and outfit the crew.

But.

Honestly, its better to be Away. He has a feeling his subconscious knows how much Tony hates creating and dedicating time to the Avengers (who never trusted him). Because, Tony never finds schematics or half-completed gear or arms laying around, but he knows it's his, because he would recognize his work anywhere. He notices the subtle variations in Natasha's Widow Bites and how the angle of Clint's quiver changes, even if he can't remember making any of it (can't teach an old dog new tricks after all, can you, Merchant of Death?).

It must be is saved on a separate server, away from anything he would normally access, a way to keep himself away from himself (how pathetic).

 **XX**

(His mind has a knack of knowing how to make every bad memory even more awful.)

Steve looms over him, smirking. His hair falls artfully into his eyes, as his gaze roves over Tony's exposed form. Tony's told him he doesn't like to be tied up (after the Ten Rings bound him and left him to bake in the sun) but Steve has a way of brushing aside Tony's limits and doing what he wants regardless. Who was Tony to deny Captain America, when he had the privilege to receive even a morsel of attention from the legendary patriot (Captain America is more of a man then you will ever be, boy!)?

"I thought it would be easier this way," Steve says conversationally, walking around the bed, eyes never leaving Tony's body, with its legs and wrists lashed together.

Tony's anxious: Steve looks hungry for something Tony isn't sure he will be able to provide, and he can't well articulate this with a gag in his mouth.

The first touch of Steve's hand on his hip startles him enough to flinch and his body jerks, pulling the restraints tight.

"I thought you wanted this, Tony," Steve says softly, with a curious edge to his voice. "I thought you wanted me," he continues, with a pointed look at Tony's flaccid penis.

Tony whimpers, feeling tears gather in his eyes as Steve takes him in hand, and begins to stroke the length. It's rough and uncomfortable—

"Don't you love me Tony?" Steve asks, dangerously low.

And Tony screams when, with no warning, Steve flips him over in one clean movement and pushes himself into Tony's body.

 **XX**

It's all very suspicious in retrospect, and Tony's looked at it from every side, but he still can't decipher the Soldier's intentions.

Somehow, the murderer has a way of appearing when Tony is crawling out of dreams of terror and desperation (always in the workshop, the bedroom is too much to even contemplate). This of course could all be coincidental, but Tony doesn't believe in leaving things to chance, and he's good at recognizing patterns of behavior, good or bad (functioning alcoholic reporting for duty).

The Soldier hasn't slaughtered Tony yet, but maybe he _is_ just biding his time until the opportunity arises so he can complete his deep cover mission. Tony can't find him in it to worry, because half of the time he's Away (how _did_ he get back home?). With any luck, the Soldier will make it quick and do it then.

Well—

The Soldier isn't one for conversation, and he only speaks to provide direction.

But he's started to be there, more often than not, when Tony wakes up shrieking and lashing out, tears building in his eyes (stop your sniveling boy, _Stark men are made of iron!)._

Tony hasn't built bad association with his touch yet, despite the one time he punched the Soldier in the nose after a particularly bad nightmare (Afghanistan and Steve all rolled into one). The Soldier moved with the blow, and with his face a bloody mess, counted Tony down from his spiral.

Well, there's that.

End


End file.
